


Divided

by keepcalmsmile



Series: Father Remove This Cup From Me [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Teenchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepcalmsmile/pseuds/keepcalmsmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hunt was easy, for once. Dean's question was not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divided

The father shall be divided against the son, and the son against the father.  
Luke 12:53

“Dad?” Dean spoke for the first time in the nearly three-hour drive after a simple (for once) salt-and-burn. Actually, last week we finished the black dog that had brought us here for the past two weeks, but Dean had stumbled on this a day or two later.

He’d been doing that more and more, finding ways to prolong our stay in a given place. It wasn’t for his benefit.

Sammy, of course, was more than happy to skip the salt-and-burn (also Dean’s idea) and go to school. I swore I was the only parent whose child got pissed when I took him _out_ of class.

“Dad?” Dean repeated, reeling me back in.

“Yes, Dean?” I sighed. Hopefully, the kid would spit out whatever’s been bothering him all day. Instead of overwhelming me with a constant stream of conversation, he had been silent and broody since breakfast…much more like his brother, who entered the angsty preteen stage two years early.

Dean hesitated, “Actually, forget about it.”

“Dean, spill.”

“It’s not important,” Dean said, far too quickly.

“ _Dean!”_

Once again, Dean stayed silent, and I was ready to snap at him again when he finally said, barely loud enough for me to hear, “How much do you love us, Dad?”

I blinked. Out of all the things I thought would fall from my oldest son’s mouth, that had to be the least expected. “Little bit old to be seeking constant verbal validation, don’t you think?”

“Yea,” Dean nodded, “You’re right. Sorry I brought it up.”

The resignation in his voice made me glance at him. Dean had turned away from me, head pressed against the base of the window, and I could just make out his troubled frown from the reflection of the glass.

The Father reminded me that even if this kid is already on his way to being nearly as good of a hunter as I was, he was still only thirteen, barely a teenager. A little encouragement—in moderation—was healthy.

I sighed again. Outright declarations of love were never my strong suit, even with Mary. I couldn’t remember the last time I said the words “I love you,” to Dean.

The Father dryly noted that might be a problem.

“The thing is,” I said slowly, “I don’t usually try to tell you and Sam how much I love you because I know that I won’t be able to find words good enough to say it.”

There. That should be more than enough to hold back at least several months’ worth of teenage angst.

Sure enough, Dean lifted his head and turned to look at me. Good. Maybe we could finally talk about something…three hours of silence got boring.

“Does that mean you love us more than the entire world?”

“Sure, Dean. If that kind of sentimental crap will make you feel better…I love you more than the entire world.”

“No, Dad, I mean it. Do you love us more than the entire world?”

There was something in his voice again, a depth and a seriousness that I honestly forgot Dean was capable of beneath his I-don’t-give-a-crap attitude. I spared him another glance; his green eyes were staring intently at me, both desperate and demanding.

I realized, far, far too late, that this was much more than teenage angst.

“I’m not sure I understand your question,” I said slowly.

Dean huffed impatiently, “I _mean,_ if you had to choose between saving the entire world, or saving me and Sammy, what would you do?”

I drew in a sharp breath. Nothing could be simple with either of these boys. Ever. So of course, Dean wasn’t seeking some stupid type of validation. I knew what he was really asking, and I’d rather go against a dozen demons than answer.

“What kind of stupid-ass question is that?” I demanded.

“S’not stupid,” Dean objected, and of course, he was right, “With what you do, with what you have us do, you must have thought about it.”

I sometimes forgot that while he long ago decided he was stupid compared to the genius that was Sam Winchester, Dean was actually a sharp tool himself. Unless a monster attacked us in the next ten seconds, I was going to be answering this question.

I waited ten seconds, just in case. But Winchesters were never that lucky.

I sucked in another deep breath, “No, Dean, I wouldn’t.”

Dean nodded, as if he was expecting that, but the way his shoulder slumped, and how he leaned his head against the window and stared out at the lifeless landscape screamed disappointment.

Obviously.

“Dean,” I said. He ignored me. “Dean!” 

Always the good soldier, Dean snapped his head towards me. He just looked like he wanted to kill me too.

“You have to understand that if I need to go to hell a dozen times over to save you or Sam, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“I know.”

“But there are millions of other fathers who would do the exact same thing for their sons, and they don’t know what we know, so it’s our responsibility…”

“Our responsibility is to family, always,” Dean grunted.

My throat closed. I was the one who told him that, a thousand times over.

The Hunter reminded me, so reminded Dean, “Could you really live with yourself, Dean? If you knew that six billion people had died instead of you? Would that be better?”

“Better for Sam.”

“I’m pretty sure he’d disagree with you, Dean.” And wasn't that fucked up, a nine-year-old ready to be a goddamned martyr.

“Yea well," Dean's voice rose a little, "At least he’d be around to be pissed.”

“But then are you really saving him for his sake, or for yours?” I was a bastard for pushing the issue, I knew, but if Dean was going to ask . . .

“Then how many people,” I ignored the usually unforgivable edge in Dean’s voice (I deserved it), “How many people is Sam worth?”

“Dean . . .”

“No, I mean it Dad!” and Dean must have been taking pissyness lessons from his brother, because he _never_ acted out this way before, “Because I can’t think of a time when you’ll be choosing between the whole world and him,” –he didn’t include himself—“But I can sure as hell think of times when you’ll have to choose between two people, or five, or ten, or a hundred, and him, and I just need to know how many people he’s worth!”

Well . . . shit. The kid had handed me a rope and I’d damned well hung myself with it. The Father in me wondered when this question had become hard. Hadn’t I started this to protect these boys –to protect _Sam—_ and now . . .

“This discussion is over,” I growled, might as well salvage what I could from this disastrous conversation.

“But _Dad_ . . .”

“DEAN! This conversation is _over!_ ”

Dean snapped to the back of his seat, and turned to stare back out of the window, taut with fury.

It made me the worst father on record, but I welcomed the silence.

The silent tension stretched on another fifteen minutes before Dean muttered, “I’d save him, I’d save both of you, no matter what.”

I didn’t have anything to say to that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The verse in Luke is from one of Christ's sermons, when he is commanding people to follow him, while simultaneously warning of the debates and division that will emerge because of his teachings.


End file.
